


Best Dressed

by Batsutousai



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a lot of teasing and an award, then went from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Dressed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokesenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokesenna/gifts), [Alate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alate/gifts).



> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The characters of Thomas "Tom" Hiddleston is based on a real person, and no offence is intended; this is only for the amusement of myself and other like-minded (read: mentally ill) fans.
> 
>  **A/N:** Your author apologises in advance for the absolute crap below. She is writing on four hours sleep and a cold. And she's not bothering with a beta, or more than a glancing read-through. So it's gonna be bad.
> 
> This one-shot grew from the darling [@PrincelySecrets](https://twitter.com/PrincelySecrets) and [@PrancerLoon](https://twitter.com/PrancerLoon) ~~fucking _finally_~~ sharing their first kiss. ~~Teases.~~  
>  Also contributing to my insanity, the stunning [MischiefRulesHere](http://mischiefruleshere.tumblr.com/) left the following prompt: **In light of winning the title of best dressed man 2013, Tom is smug to Loki about Loki's constant teasing about Tom's 'ghastly' attire.**
> 
> Finally did a read-through. OMG, GUYS. THIS WAS SO BAD. WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME?! *ashamed*

Tom wasn't really certain when Loki's snarls about his stupidity and gullibility had turned more teasing than mean, and he _really_ had no idea when it had turned into subtle – or as subtle as the banished prince bothered to get about most things that didn't involve Asgard or the Avengers – flirting. Yet, here he stood, holding his award notice for topping the list for GQ.com's Best Dressed Man of 2013, his smile just shy of a smirk, and Loki leaning a little too close to get a good look at the paper. 

"This is _absurd_ ," he said, looking away from the award, but not moving out of Tom's personal space. "This is clothing better found on a _slave_. And this _material_!" He plucked at Tom's favourite button-up, sneering. "I would sooner put this on a pig for slaughter than myself!" 

"And, yet," Tom interrupted, refusing to let the god's sharp words bother him, " _I_ am the one they liked the best." 

"That, you idiot, is because Midgardians are small-minded sheep who are more attracted to your face and what lies _under_ the fabric, than how the fabric looks." 

Which...was actually kind of true, Tom knew. Still, "If I ran about in a t-shirt and ripped jeans, they wouldn't have voted me up." Honestly, he wouldn't even have made the official list. 

Loki looked caught for a moment, then flashed his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Small-minded sheep," he said. "They have some little sense, but not so much that it should impress me." 

Tom rolled his eyes. "Well, fine. If it was up to _you_ , what fashion would be the best option?" 

And, oh, probably not the best question Tom had ever put forth. Loki took a step back, but with the way his eyes raked along Tom's body, he might as well have started groping the human. 

Loki snapped his fingers and Tom's clothing, save his boxers, appeared in a neat pile on the couch. " _Loki_!" Tom shouted, glaring at the god and holding his award over the front of his boxers. Because spending _any_ time with Loki, of late, tended to end with him sporting a tell that his trousers could usually hide, but his boxers _certainly_ couldn't. 

Loki's eyes narrowed and his lips curved with a smirk that _really_ shouldn't have been as thrilling as it was. "Thomas," he purred, Tom's name like a sin on his tongue, "is there something...wrong?" 

"I'm standing in your living room in my pants, and you're asking if there's something wrong," Tom returned with a touch of irritation, which was only a little faked. "Put my clothes back. Now." 

"You act as though you've never been bare in the presence of another before," Loki murmured as he took a slow step forward. 

"Girlfriends, roommate, costume designers, people related to me by blood," Tom agreed, resisting the urge to take a step back. "Loki, seriously. Clothing. Now." 

Loki was directly in front of him, one hand bracing against Tom's chest, just over his heart. "I think silk would suit you," he murmured and green magic crawled along Tom's skin, like the tingle of static, or a limb that had gone to sleep. 

A dark blue shirt – _Tunic,_ Tom mentally corrected as it fell nearly to his knees – appeared in the wake of the magic, tight around his torso, and loosening at about his waist and down. The half-sleeves weren't particularly tight, but they didn't flop everywhere when he raised his hands from in front of his crotch, either, giving him an easy range of movement. The fabric was light and soft, rather like being clothed in clouds, Tom thought, though a little stiff along the edges to – at his guess – keep from fraying. There were no seams, so sign of the fabric having been created in anything but this exact shape. 

As the magic crawled down his legs, dark trousers formed in fabric just as soft and light as the tunic, but with less give to it, as though it had been soaked in whatever stiffened the edges of the tunic. Just as the magic reached his ankles, Tom realised he was missing something and glanced over at the pile of clothing on the couch to find his pants folded innocently on the top. "Dammit, Loki," he complained, because as nice as the new clothing felt, the boxers had actually been sort of comforting in their familiarity. 

Loki's smile was the farthest thing from soothing that Tom had ever seen on his face. "It was in the way," he said and tapped his fingers gently against Tom's chest, sending out another wave of magic. 

This magic changed the shape of the clothing, drawing the neckline of the tunic into a long V, and baring far more of Tom's chest than he was usually comfortable with. String as soft as the fabric threaded seamlessly across the open neckline, draping artfully. The trousers grew lacing in the front, which he could feel shifting against his pelvis and cock, catching its interest far more obviously than necessary. 

Tom met Loki's eyes, searching behind the front of mischief and superiority for– There. A hint of lust, shown most obviously in the way his pupils were just the slightest bit too large for the light level in the room. He let the award drop to the floor at their feet, brushing both hands up Loki's chest. The god's eyes fluttered tellingly, and Tom breathed, "Stop _teasing_ me, you–"

Loki's mouth crashed against Tom's, hard and unyielding, and the hand not pressed against the mortal's heart dragged through blond hair, tugging just the slightest bit too hard. Loki's tongue forced its way past Tom's lips, only for the human to catch the tip between his teeth in a gentle warning. 

"Do not _deny_ me," Loki hissed against Tom's lips, green eyes blazing with lust and anger. 

"I'm not," Tom breathed in reply, then pressed their lips back together again, keeping the contact gentler, less likely to bruise his own, far less durable skin. 

Loki took the warning to heart, and his hand eased in Tom's hair, though he still tugged at the short strands. When he made a bid for Tom's mouth, the mortal opened to him willingly, and Loki's tongue licked along his teeth, almost tickling the inside of his lips with how gentle he was. It was left to Tom to entice the god's tongue to curl with his, licking along the sides until they were dancing between their open mouths, saliva escaping to trickle down both their chins. 

"I would have you," Loki breathed against Tom's lips as the mortal gulped in air, only a little jealous at how the god still had breath. "I would have you sprawled over my bed, readying yourself for me while I watch." Tom let out a quiet moan of agreement, and Loki added, "Dressed still in this tunic, I think." 

And, okay, Tom wasn't usually one for wearing clothing during sex, but this fabric was so light against his skin, he thought he could give it a try. So he nodded, brushing his nose along Loki's until he could brush his lips against the tip of the god's nose. 

Loki's eyes crossed for a moment, perplexed and a little disbelieving, and then he shook his head and magic rushed over them, the living room vanishing from sight. 

When the magic passed, Tom found himself, alone, in the centre of Loki's bed. His trousers were gone, but he hardly noticed, with how soft the dark sheets of the god's bed felt against his bare skin. 

Loki was nowhere to be seen, but his voice still sounded in Tom's ear, ordering, "Touch yourself for me," and unseen fingers brushed down his chest and abdomen, vanishing just above where Tom's cock strained for attention. 

Tom couldn't help the way his hips bucked at the contact, nor the muffled whine when it vanished, and he had to take a moment to calm himself before he brushed one hand down his own chest, feeling more than a little self-conscious. But that changed when the fabric under his fingers tingled against his chest when pressed against, and he gasped at the gentle bite of...not quite _pain_ , but not quite _pleasure_ , either. 

It was magic, something purely Loki, able to be manipulated by Tom, and he pushed both his hands down his chest and abdomen, gasping as the sensations following them. Pushing harder against the fabric resulted in a spark that was more pain than pleasure, while the lightest of touches were like a lover's caress, so Tom kept his touch gentle as he traced patterns over his own body, occasionally pushing just a little too hard, like a punishment for enjoying himself too much. 

He couldn't say how long Loki let him play before the ghost hands held gently to Tom's wrists and Loki's voice, husky and low with want, ordered against the shell of his ear, "Prepare yourself." The hands drew away from Tom's wrists, but not before one slipped a bottle into his hand. 

Tom took a moment to catch his breath, because he wasn't quite sure which way was up for a moment, and then he flipped the top of the bottle Loki had given him, and squirted some of the lube – or oil, as it turned out, because no self-respecting god would _ever_ use something as processed as human lube – into one hand. He recapped the bottle and set it next to him, then pulled up the bottom of the tunic, baring his lower body to the room. 

And, God, he was feeling self-conscious again. It wasn't the first time he'd played with his arse – he'd always been curious, and more than willing to try anything once – but he'd never done it with an audience. 

"Don't make me take you dry," Loki's voice breathed into Tom's ear, more warning than threat, but it gave Tom the push he needed to lever himself up enough to get one hand into position and press an oil-covered finger into his hole. 

He grunted at the sensation, because it had been a few years since the last time he'd done this, and it always felt odd for something to be going _in_ where things usually only came _out_. But he caught his lower lip between his teeth and kept at it, moving quickly to two fingers so he could actually stretch himself some. 

And it felt... It felt pretty good, actually, once he got used to the sensation. And he knew Loki was still watching him, could hear heavy breaths not quite in sync with his stuttered gasps for air. He couldn't pinpoint the origin of the noise, but the _knowledge_ that he caused Loki to lose even so much of his tight control was enough to make Tom press in a third finger, grunting at the stretch and tightness of it. 

Phantom hands pressed, sudden and unexpected, over his pectorals, and Tom jerked in surprise, letting out a shout that was almost immediately muffled against desperate lips. He realised this wasn't a phantom, this was the real Loki, hands brushing feather-light down his chest and along his sides, setting off sparks of magic against Tom's already overly-sensitised skin. 

He couldn't help but buck up against Loki, and their erections brushed – Loki had removed his own clothing before joining Tom – making them gasp into each others' mouths, tongues touching just their tips because they were both breathing too hard to lock lips. 

"Move," Loki ordered, one hand tugging at the fingers Tom still had pressed into himself. 

"I'm not–" Tom tried, but Loki pulled his fingers out, then pushed his own in. Magic sparked along Tom's opening and up, through his colon a ways before dissipating. The sensation had Tom keening and pressing up against Loki like he could escape the sharp bite of pleasure/pain. 

Loki's mouth caught his for a brief, sloppy kiss, and Tom thought he could feel the smug smile on the god's lips. 

Then Loki was guiding himself into Tom, and there was none of the uncomfortable stretching Tom had expected, certain he wouldn't have been stretched enough to–

_Right. Magic._

Tom grunted as he felt himself being moved, drawn up to sit in Loki's lap, the god's bare chest pressing tingles of magic against Tom's skin where the tunic lay trapped between them, and he buried his face against Loki's neck and let out a whimper. 

Loki mirrored the noise and the tunic vanished, leaving nothing but sweat and Tom's cock trapped between them. "Hands on my shoulders, legs around my waist," Loki ordered breathlessly, the words hot against Tom's neck. 

Tom pulled his head away from the god to watch the way his expression shifted between need and concentration as the mortal moved to do as ordered, locking his ankles against the small of the god's back. When Tom was ready, Loki's hands – firm against his hips – easily lifted the human, then slid him gently back down on Loki's cock and, _God_ , the physical strength required to mange that move made Tom's head spin, even as he ducked his head down and nipped at Loki's lips until they opened for him, tongues meeting and falling apart as Loki moved him like a doll. 

Tom had never really thought about how much physical strength was a turn-on until that moment, and, even then, the thought was a fleeting one as their mouths met again for a brief moment. 

Loki kept moving Tom, unfaltering and only occasionally rushed, until he came, mouth latched against Tom's neck to muffle the noise he couldn't hold back. 

Tom mouthed open kisses against Loki's forehead and eyebrows as the god came down from his high, steadying his own breath, even though his whole body burned with need. Because you didn't rush Loki, and they were pressed too tightly together for Tom to jerk himself off. 

And then, without warning, the prickle of magic encased Tom's cock and he came with a scream that was half ecstasy, half agony, because it was too much all at once and _fucking Loki_.

When Tom came back from wherever his orgasm had thrown him, he blinked away spots until he could meet smug green eyes. He realised, with a start, that they were curled together under Loki's covers, the god holding him tight. Tom almost wanted to shove away, just to be contrary, but he felt exhausted. So he nudged his head under Loki's chin and muttered, "I hate you." 

A chuckle far more gentle than anything Tom had previously heard from the god rumbled in his chest, and one hand stroked soothingly up Tom's back. "Go to sleep, Thomas," he murmured, unexpectedly kind.

Well, Tom had known Loki couldn't be a tit _all_ the time.


End file.
